


.08%

by littleficlets (addictedkitten)



Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band)
Genre: M/M, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-19
Updated: 2014-10-19
Packaged: 2018-02-21 18:18:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2477894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/addictedkitten/pseuds/littleficlets
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Michael and Luke at a party, the first time Luke gets drunk.</p>
            </blockquote>





	.08%

Michael’s on his third beer and Luke’s on his lap by the time he realizes that Luke has the approximate alcohol tolerance of a malnourished baby squirrel.

Well, Luke’s not _on_ his lap exactly, but it isn’t for lack of unsubtle trying. Michael had thought he was just, you know, sitting there looking cool, tucked into the corner of the couch with his beer, one arm slung over the back like a cool-ass dude who wasn’t like, lonely or whatever. But then Luke wobbled over like a sad lost penguin and flopped down beside him, fitted himself perfectly into the curve of Michael’s side and Michael’s stupid hand just sort of naturally migrated to Luke’s bony little shoulder and the point is, Luke’s trying to steal his beer, which Michael isn’t going to let him do, and also Luke’s tucked against him like he’s Michael’s girlfriend or something. He is _not_ Michael’s girlfriend. Michael would have noticed that happening.

“Get your own beer,” Michael says testily, jerking his away from Luke’s grasping fingers. He holds it out of Luke’s reach, arm extended so Luke can only whine and bat ineffectually at his wrist, arching against Michael’s body as he grabs for it. Michael’s cheeks flush, which is definitely all the alcohol’s fault. “Actually don’t, you’re already drunk.”

Calum ambles by on his way to the kitchen, raises an eyebrow at Michael. He pauses, and Michael opens his mouth to thank him for the help he’s no doubt about to offer, and then Calum steals his beer. “Thanks,” Calum says. He waves at Luke, and Luke waves back, his body wiggling unecessarily against Michael’s side.

“No,” Michael says, desperation creeping in, “no, you fuck -“ but Calum just salutes him with his pilfered pilsner and reverses course, heads back into the thick of the party. Luke, thwarted, has let himself sort of melt into Michael’s side, his hand settled on Michael’s waist, angled so he’s draped half over Michael in a very close cuddle. 

Luke rubs his cold little nose against Michael’s throat, huffs out a sigh. “Why did you hate me before,” he mumbles. 

“Because you’re weird,” Michael snaps, can’t help how he tenses up. It’s really not fair of Luke to corner him like this, especially now that things are going so well. They’re friends, their videos are getting views. This is a real thing. They don’t need to ruin everything by talking about feelings. “You hated me too,” he points out, shifting uncomfortably. 

Luke just shifts with him, hugs him around the waist like an apology. He settles his head against Michael’s shoulder. “I just hated you because I was mad you hated me,” he mumbles. “I thought I did something. I thought you could tell.”

Michael swallows, and Luke turns into it, drawn by the movement so close, rubs his cheek against the quickening pulse beat of Michael’s throat. “Tell what,” he asks, mouth dry. He misses his beer. He wishes he had another one, or twelve. 

“You know,” Luke says, drawing back a few inches. Michael finds himself helpless not to look back down at him, his big sincere blue eyes, blushing cheeks, soft mouth. “That I liked you or whatever.”

Michael’s pretty sure the entire world has narrowed down to this, the two of them talking quietly, sounds of the rest of the party distant, meaningless. There’s only this leather couch, the hot press of Luke’s body against his, the dim lamplight shading Luke’s skin gold. “You’re so drunk,” Michael tells him, his voice shaking. “You’re like the drunkest person, you don’t know what you’re saying.” He’s probably passed out on the couch and is dreaming this, is the thing. “You don’t know what you’re doing.”

“I know what I’m doing,” Luke says, so quiet he wouldn’t be audible if they weren’t so close. Michael’s caught, staring at the flutter of his eyelashes. Luke tilts his face up, pauses a moment an inch from Michael’s mouth and then moves in, kisses him. 

And since Luke is braver than Michael ever was, brave enough to offer himself instead of assuming he’s not wanted, braver than Michael the first time he saw him and decided he should hate what he could never have, Michael kisses him back. He owes the both of them that.


End file.
